All
you can think about in these days is the weather. It’s inescapable. Everyone knows what is coming, and the sheer
anticipation of it is exhausting. It
will sneak up on us, just as it always has, arriving just when we can’t take
any more frost or gloom. And even with
the memories of past years, we become naive and childlike with impatience. Does it usually take this long? we ask, forgetting
for a moment that things are progressing quite as usual. Was it like this last year? Maybe the flowers poked up a little earlier
then, or maybe it was later, but it isn’t the length of the wait that
matters. We’ll still be looking forward
to the coming-next, even if the grass greens sooner and the snow melts
early. Even when it is mild through the
early weeks of the year, we want to forge ahead with quicker steps that the
world seems willing to take.
It
is cold today, a sharp, fresh kind.
It is bright and full and buoyant. Today is resolute. It bounds
forth with the undying optimism of waking at dawn and beginning. This is a time of newness.
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